


General Resolves

by itsjimfromit



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsjimfromit/pseuds/itsjimfromit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending to The Great Gatsby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	General Resolves

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea from this tumblr post, so I can't take full credit. I planned another chapter after this, which I may or may not post. It's just writing practice for me, really.
> 
> http://theman-withthekey.tumblr.com/post/24893799055/i-looked-up-and-saw-a-man-in-a-gold-outfit-laying

_“...The chauffeur-he was one of Wolfsheim’s proteges-heard the shots-afterward he could only say that he hadn’t thought anything much about them. I drove from the station directly to Gatsby’s house and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that alarmed any one. But they knew then, I firmly believe. With scarcely a word said, four of us, the chauffeur, butler, gardener, and I, hurried down to the pool.”-(161)_

 

The air was cool, and I shivered in the stillness. The chauffeur was the first to see-he pointed wordlessly. Something like terror lit my heart afire, and it burned painfully in my chest as we hurried to the pool’s side. His body floated silently, face down, the thinnest threads of red swirling in on themselves along his head. The butler reached for him, but anxiously, I held him back.

“It isn’t him!” I cried, turning away, “Gatsby!” A silence passed then, and I became afraid that I was wrong.

“Here, old sport!” It was weak, but it reached my ears well enough. Blindly, I followed Gatsby’s voice, the butler not far behind. The chauffeur and the gardener busied themselves with the body in the pool. I peered anxiously through the thick cover of the trees as the midday sun began its slow descent.

“Where?” I called, having nearly crossed the yard without a sight. Very quickly, the thought came that I had imagined Gatsby’s voice. I would have come to believe it had I not spotted him, sprawled accidentally about the grass. His swimming suit was matted red with blood above the heart. Beside him, I immediately pressed the wound the best I knew and looked down at Gatsby.

“Are you badly hurt?” I inquired. His eyelids fluttered as he searched himself for a faint smile.

“Not at all, old sport,” he replied, and then his smile faltered, “He’s finished, I suppose.” He pointed lazily with his uninjured arm. Following his motion, the butler rushed to the body, quickly confirming my thought.

“George Wilson!” he called back. Wildly, I looked back at Gatsby.

“Gatsby, what’s gone on?” He closed his eyes and offered me his uninjured hand.

“Help me up, won’t you?” It wouldn’t do to refuse, so I helped him stand as gently as I dared. Gatsby leaned heavily against me as we began the return.

“Klipspringer,” the gardener said loudly as we approached, “The body in the pool.” Gatsby, already alarmingly pale from the loss of blood, paled further.

“Wilson,” he began breathlessly, “He must have mistaken Klipspringer...I started back toward the house, and I heard the shot. I came ‘round the other side of the pool to capture him, but he turned and fired. Before I could stand, he shot himself.” It was a fantastic story; my expression must have mirrored the others’. But what other explanation was there to give?

“Phone Wolfsheim,” Gatsby requested. And then he fainted dead away.


End file.
